


Made Up

by 2SpaceGays



Category: Batwoman (Comic), DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 04:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10756689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2SpaceGays/pseuds/2SpaceGays
Summary: Maggie lets Kate do her makeup. It might just be the biggest mistake of her life.





	Made Up

There isn’t much I regret when it comes to Kate. But asking her to do my makeup for the annual GCPD awards night sure is up there. 

The smile that had taken over her face when I asked should have been enough to warn me away from the endeavour. And if not that, the box she had brought out, too big for our vanity and complete with lift-out levels, draws, pockets, swivelling layers, and a myriad of specialised compartments, all filled to the brim with more products that I can name in brands I didn’t even know _existed_ and couldn’t pronounce if I tried, should have been enough to change my mind completely. 

Instead, I sat down on the toilet seat under the bright glow of her lamp and completely submitted to being plucked and poked, wiped and rubbed, painted, dabbed, and dusted without a word, my initial grimace reluctantly smoothed by her laughing reassurances that she wouldn’t go overboard. 

But it’s been over an hour now, and the grimace is returning, unhelped by the constant stream of information I’ve gotten about the importance of high quality brushes, contouring, and picking the right shade of everything. My lower back aches in spite of the cushions judiciously lumped behind my back, and my rear end has been asleep for so long I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand when Kate eventually lets me up – if she ever does. 

I’ve seen her do her makeup in ten minutes, and I have to wonder whether the time she’s spending now owes to the tired, dry canvas I’ve presented her with, or whether she’s broken her vow to keep it simple. I’m sure the Killer Clowns wear less than this. 

Every time she moves away to rifle through another of those compartments, the coil of dread in my stomach winds that much tighter. Every new instrument she brings to my face lessens the time I’ll have to apologise, wash it all off, and redo whatever Kate has done with just some blush and foundation. 

I’ve almost worked up the courage to voice my concern when she finally announces that I’m finished. My eyes feel as if they’ve been glued closed, but I manage to open them. 

I turn immediately towards the mirror, thinking that I’ve never been so nervous in my life, but Kate’s fingers around my chin firmly turn my head back to her. I have to get dressed first, she tells me as she helps me stand, arm around my waist to compensate for the stiffness in my legs. 

So I do, in a crisp suit, polished shoes, and new tie Kate’s bought (or had made, she’s never clear) to match her dress. The whole time, she purposefully blocks my view of the mirror, throwing me a cheeky pout whenever I try to catch a glimpse of my face and asking whether I trust her. 

I don’t, but I am surprised by just how light my face feels, not clogged or heavy like it I had imagined it would after all the work she’s put into it. 

It’s not until she’s gone over every inch of me with a lint roller and fixed my hair (I said I’d do it, but it’s an impossible task without access to a mirror, and she spends only a couple of minutes ensuring it sits right, anyway) that I’m allowed to look at myself. 

With a deep breath, preparing for severe eyes and colourful lips, I look. 

The wince I’d felt coming never materialises. Instead, my jaw sags in surprise – _pleasant_ surprise. 

I look like _me_. Me with smooth, flawless skin and no dark, heavy bags under my eyes, but still me. She’s even used my own lipstick – a nice, natural pink that doesn’t draw the eyes like her deep red ones do. 

I’m almost disappointed. 

Kate’s arms go around me from behind, her chin coming to rest of my shoulder, gauging my reaction in the reflection, her smile hopeful, “What do you think?” 

I’m speechless, but not in the way I thought I’d be. Any doubts I had harboured about how well Kate knows me dissolve in an instant. 

“It’s perfect,” I eventually get out. 

I still look like a no-nonsense police captain – albeit a pretty one – rather than a movie star. 

Kate, of course, is the movie star, stunning in her shapely, strapless dress. She belongs on a red carpet, not a stuffy state police dinner. 

Happy regardless, she goes to kiss my cheek. I flinch away, saving my unblemished skin from those red lips, and earning myself a laugh when I do. 

I raise her hand to kiss instead, holding my lovely wife’s gaze in the mirror as I do, “Thank you.” 

“Anytime, babe.” 


End file.
